


it's time for me to fall apart

by estrella30



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:12:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry gives Michael his first tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's time for me to fall apart

**Author's Note:**

> based on a prompt nina said on Twitter the other day. 
> 
> thanks as always to mediaville for the beta. any remaining mistakes are my own!

*

Michael mentions it in passing one day, but Harry runs with it, ringing Michael while they’re all in London and inviting him over. 

“Yeah, I mean,” Michael ducks away from where Calum’s trying to stick his finger in Michael’s ear and wanders into the hall. He watches Ash and Luke joust each other with mic stands through the soundproofing glass, and wonders if they’re actually going to get any recording done today or if it’s just been one big waste of studio time. He thinks there’s possibly still a chance at getting something done, but then Calum strolls into the soundbooth and hits Ash and Luke in the face with two sofa pillows he’d hidden behind his back so no, Michael thinks probably not. 

“No, I’m definitely free,” Michael says, looking away from the rest of his band and tapping the fingers of the hand not holding his mobile against his thigh. “Text me your address and I’ll be there in a bit, all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. His voice is clear and happy and Michael tries not to think too much about how happy he is at the idea of seeing Harry again. They all definitely needed the break after the first leg of the tour but Michael had gotten used to being around the other lads all the time, especially Harry with his dumb jokes and his obnoxious laugh and his bright and stupid smile. “Hurry up, all right? I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Michael wonders for a brief second what the surprise might be but shakes his head and wanders around grabbing his jacket and guitar case. “Is it something I’m going to like?”

Harry laughs quietly. Michael has no idea why the sound makes his insides clench tight and hot but then it’s gone, quick as it came. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I’ll be right over,” Michael says and hangs up so he can call for a car.

*

Michael stares at the spread Harry’s got laid out on his coffee table, his mouth falling open with a surprised little gasp. “Is that…”

“Tom’s kit, yeah,” Harry says, and shit, that’s what Michael thought it was but thinking and knowing are two different things. “I mean, you said you wanted to get something inked before we went to the states, right?”

Michael licks his lips. He glances over at Harry who looks anxious and hopeful and just a little bit apprehensive, like he’s worried Michael might be cross with him. Michael tries to reign in his nerves enough to put Harry at ease. He’ll just freak out in his head. 

“No, yeah, I did. I mean I do,” he hurries to say and Harry smiles at him, slow and so fucking bright. “You want to – I mean, you can do that?”

“I can, yeah,” Harry shoves the hair back from his face and grabs a beanie lying on his side table to tug down over his curls. “I mean, nothing too fancy, but I’ve done one on Tom and Ed. A small thing on Zayn too,” he blinks up at Michael. “Figured I could do you too, if you wanted.”

“I do want it, yeah,” Michael says, and if his voice shakes a little they both pretend not to notice. 

*

Harry gets Michael set up on his sofa, pulling a chair right up in front of Michael’s. He cracks his knuckles and has Michael take his shirt off so they can figure out where Michael wants his tattoo to go. Michael has a flash of, _fuck, I’m getting a tattoo, my mum is going to kill me_ but then thinks of how much he wants one and how cool it is to be getting one from Harry and decides he’ll deal with his mum later. 

“Do you know what you want?”

It’s registering in his brain that Harry’s talking to him, but he can’t seem to drag his eyes away from Harry’s mouth. His lips are so red, like they’re flushed or something, and when his mouth moves Michael can’t help but notice how wide it is, how soft the skin there seems. 

“Um…”

“I mean, I got a star first, but that was like, I don’t know. I think that’d be kind of hard to do right,” Harry babbles. Michael’s hardly ever heard Harry sound this unsure. Sure they all get hit with some nerves from time to time before performing, but Harry seems dead nervous right now and it makes something relax inside Michael’s chest. He manages to take in a long breath and hold it, then exhales slowly. 

“You could just do something easy; something small,” Michael says and Harry nods. “Like an M or something maybe?”

Harry grins brightly. “Oh, sure. I could definitely do that. You want it like…” he leans forward, his breath warm and ghosting over Michael’s shoulder. “Up over here?” he asks, pressing his thumb into the space between his shoulder and collarbone. “It’s the same spot I’ve got one for my mum on one side and my sister on the other.”

Michael swallows thickly and nods. Harry’s hand is warm on his skin, his eyelashes spiky and long where they’re fanned out over his cheeks as he looks down at Michael’s shoulder. He’s biting his bottom lip and tracing the pad of his thumb in a loose M, kind of marking his spot, and Michael’s never pretended not to notice how fit Harry is but he’s done a pretty good job ignoring it until right about now. 

It’s hardly anything new or earth shattering; Michael’s only ever been with girls but that’s just because he’s never found a guy he wanted to be with, not that he’s opposed to it. He’d thought for a little bit in the very beginning that he and Cal might, but then realized quick enough that the best way to end a band and a bunch of years of friendship would be to get drunk and fuck one night after a gig. By now Michael doesn’t ever even think about it with Cal or Luke or Ash, but Harry, well, Harry’s _Harry_. Michael’s pretty sure you’d have to be blind or dead to know him and not think about it even once. 

Harry sits back and breathes out sharply. “All right; you ready?”

“I am, yeah,” Michael says quickly, before he has another chance to second guess himself. “Are you – I mean, you seem nervous or something. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”

“No, no, I do,” Harry rushes to say. He’s tipping a small bottle of alcohol onto a cotton ball and leans forward swiping the cotton over Michael’s skin. “I just – is it dumb that I’m nervous because it’s your first?” Michael blinks at him so Harry adds, “Like, I’ve done other people’s but it was always just adding to ones they already had. Not like, the only _one_.”

“Well yeah, that it pretty dumb,” Michael teases, “But, I mean, you’re dumb so I kind of expected it.”

Harry rolls his eyes and laughs and it breaks the weird tension that’s been hanging in the room. Michael feels strangely proud of himself; like learning how Harry Styles works is a staggering kind of achievement. “You’re such a dick,” Harry says, and picks up the gun thumbing it on and filling the room with a dull buzzing sound. He glances at Michael one last time as he fiddles with the ink and says, “Last time to back out.”

Michael leans back into the sofa and closes his eyes. He feels Harry pressing down on his shoulder, the fingers of his left hand curving over his bicep. “Do it,” Michael says and Harry touches the tip of the needle against his skin. 

It hurts. It’s a sharp and stinging pain, persistent and a little worse than Michael was expecting, to be honest. He hisses out a breath and instinctively goes to pull away, Harry’s firm grip the only thing keeping him still. 

“You all right?” Harry asks. “We can stop if you—“

“No, it’s—“ Michael grits his teeth. “It’s fine. Keep going.”

Harry grunts but doesn’t say anything, just leans in again and presses the needle back against him, going over the same sore spot making it tingle and throb. It’s not as bad the second time or maybe Michael’s starting to get used to it, the hot drag of the needle against him, the warm rush of blood to the surface of his skin. 

He forces his eyes open because he suddenly wants to watch this, wants to see what Harry looks like when he’s marking him, and the sight nearly does Michael in, has him almost doubling over on the sofa, Harry’s hands on him be damned. 

Harry’s eyes are sharp and focused, his mouth hanging open so Michael can hear him breathing wetly, tongue poking out every few seconds to lick his lips. His cheeks are flushed, the skin around his hairline shiny and damp looking, and Michael feels crazy and hot, like he’s about to burst from his own skin just watching what Harry’s looks like when he’s touching him. 

“You still with me?” Harry’s voice is thick and rough. He’s not looked up from Michael’s arm, only pausing every few seconds to wipe at the tattoo with a piece of gauze to clean away the blood and ink. 

Michael bites his lip and nods. “Yeah,” he rasps out, and oh fuck, for the love of Christ, Harry leans in even closer and blows against Michael’s skin and Michael’s getting hard. He’s got no idea if it’s from the press of the needle against him, or the pain skating up and down his skin. It must have at least a little to do with how Harry’s moved over him, knees bracketing Michael’s thighs on the sofa, his big hands curling over Michael’s arm and shoulder, his breath sticky and warm where he’s leaned in close to Michael’s chest. 

Michael shifts back, spreading his legs a little trying to get the feeling to go away but if anything that makes it worse, pressing his dick against the zip of his jeans and in a split second he’s almost desperate for some sort of friction. He chokes back a groan and looks the other way when Harry tries to catch his eye but it doesn’t work, Harry just digs his nails into the skin around the tattoo and makes Michael nearly cry out in pain. 

“You all right?” Harry asks, looking very pointedly at the bulge in Michael’s jeans. Michael feels his face go hot, nearly as burning as the skin on his shoulder with the dark black M that he can make out when he turns his head in that direction. He feels young and stupid and he hates feeling that way around Harry, it makes his belly clench tight with embarrassment. 

“Yeah, I just—“

“Hey, it’s all right,” Harry says quietly. “You like it, I get that. Happens to me all the time.”

Michael looks back to see if Harry’s taking the piss but he doesn’t think he is. If anything Harry looks deadly serious. “Yeah?”

Harry nods. “Why do you think I get so many done?” he shrugs and looks back at Michael’s shoulder, touching him again with the gun and this time Michael doesn’t even try and stop the shudder that races through his bones, his knees falling open even further, his dick painfully hard and aching. “I’m almost done with this if you want to do something about it.”

He says it so casually Michael almost doesn’t get it, but when he does his eyes nearly cross, the need to touch himself so bad. “Fuck, are you sure?” Not that it matters, Michael’s already pressing the heel of his hand against his dick to try and ease at least some of the ache, but it makes it worse, his hips pushing up against his palm for more friction. 

“Yeah,” Harry shuffles forward and leans in, pressing his knee against the hard line of Michael’s cock and Michael covers his mouth with one hand, chews down on a knuckle so he won’t make any of the needy and desperate noises that are trying to claw their way out of his throat. “Here, let me help.”

Harry finishes with the gun and leans back to put it on the table behind him and then presses a rag against the tattoo, the skin under it feeling hot and thin and sore. Michael looks up at him and Harry’s eyes are wide and green and so fucking pretty, his mouth red and wet. He leans in a little more and Michael gasps when he feels the hard line of Harry’s dick against his hip.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Michael bites out. “Fuck that’s so fucking hot.”

Harry laughs a little, holding one hand against the tattoo and curling the other around Michael’s waist. “This is the best part for me,” he says, voice slow and thick. “I’ve still got to wrap it but I wanna- I mean. I could, like, help you out with that?” 

“Fuck, please,” Michael whines, and he doesn’t even care that he sounds like he’s begging. Hell, he _is_ begging. He’s so fucking turned on, his entire body hot and shaking, every inch of his skin burning and now he’s got Harry on top of him, his fingers digging into the sore spot of his tattoo, his other hand pressing marks into his ribs and hip and side. Harry ducks his head and bites at Michael’s throat, pulling the skin between his teeth and shoving his hips into Michael’s lap, their dicks pressed almost too close and tight together. 

“Like this for now. Next time I’ll suck you off, all right?” Harry’s biting Michael’s throat again, the shell of his ear, the soft skin on the curve of his shoulder. Michael wants to push him back, wants him far away so he can come in his jeans like a fucking fifteen year old in peace, but Harry’s relentless, shoving his hips down harder, holding him against the sofa, not letting him up or away, his breath sticky and warm in Michael’s ear. “Maybe we won’t even do the tattoo next time. We’ve got lots of hotels coming up soon. Maybe I’ll just spread you out, mark you up with my mouth.”

“ _Harry_ , fuck.” Harry finally drops his fingers from the tattoo to fit his hand over Michael’s dick, pressing hard, the teeth of the zip of Michael’s jeans pinching his skin. He shoves up, chasing the heat from Harry’s hand and when he comes it makes a mess of his pants, sticky and wet. Michael grabs Harry by the hair pulling him down and into a desperate kiss, sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth as he rides out the end of his orgasm. 

“You too,” Michael breathes against Harry’s mouth. Harry’s dropped his head into Michael’s shoulder, wetly mouthing at his skin as he makes choked off little noises when Michael shoves his hand between them to press against Harry’s dick. “Can you come like this or do you want me to—“

“No, I can – this is good, just, fuck, can you maybe—“ and Michael gets it, a little, wants to mark Harry the way Harry’s marked him so he shoves Harry’s head to the side and digs his teeth into Harry’s collarbone, pulling at the skin with his teeth and sucking hard as Harry’s dick jumps under his palm, Harry gasping and coming in his jeans. 

Harry falls against him when he’s finished, a heavy pile of arms and legs and his face pressed tightly against Michael’s neck. He licks at Michael’s skin a little, but it’s more stupid than hot and Michael laughs and shoves his head away so he can get a look at Harry’s face. He’s beanie’s fallen off and his hair is hanging loose, curls wild and eyes bright and shining. 

“So. That was your first time,” Harry says dumbly then brightens with a cheesy grin. “Er, I mean, your first _tattoo_.” 

“Ha ha,” Michael rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Harry chews his lip. “Do you, um. Do you like it?”

He’s looking at Michael’s shoulder and now that he can see it better Michael realizes that he does. It’s just an M but Harry made the ends of the letter curl up a little bit and the lines are for the most part the same size and width. Plus, Harry gave it to him. Michael doesn’t think he could have picked a better tattoo if he’d planned it. 

Not that he’s going to tell Harry that, of course. 

“Eh, it’s ok I guess. Was thinking that next time I’d get one from someone more experienced ,” Michael tries to keep his expression serious but Harry’s face falls so quickly he can’t keep it up. 

“Oh, fuck, sorry if I—“

“No, I mean like, so maybe you should get some more experience,” Michael says, letting his face split into a wide grin. He rocks his hips up into Harry’s, his dick already fattening up in his damp boxers. “Or a lot more experience, really.”

He can tell the second Harry gets it because he face clears and he glances down at their laps, his mouth quirking into a tiny smile, fingers dancing over the growing bulge in Michael’s jeans. 

“Ah. More experienced. I get it,” Harry rubs his mouth with his free hand and leans in to bite at Michael’s chin. “I think we can manage that.”

-end-


End file.
